Humans Weren't Made for Flying
by seven days later
Summary: With the help of an unlikely party, Hermione learns how to fly. Kind of. Rated T for a couple of nasty words.


_Author's Note: Well I just liked the idea of my two favourite students riding a broom together. There is definitely hints of romance through this, as that was what it started off to be. However, it didn't really get to the end and is more of a poignant humor shot. Decide for yourself if it needs a second chapter and leave a review with your opinions written in kind words. Thanks for reading! _

_Disclaimer: I don't own, because believe it or not, I am not JK Rowling resorting to fanfiction. _

...

There was a reason, embedded somewhere terribly deep in today's events, why she was outside, getting soaked to her underwear and facing a death so terrifying that even her Gryffindor spirit couldn't counter the fear. At some point, sometime in the close past, she must have done something absolutely awful to get this kind of karmic punishment. There was a reason that she could never summon up a broom in their second year.

"Come on, it's like… just ask it and it'll jump into your hand." Hermione shot Ron a withering glare as he stood nearby in full quidditch gear. They had been practicing today, for the quidditch cup which Ginny was absolutely certain they were going to win this year despite the lack of Oliver Wood and the Weasley twins, their star players apart from Harry. Then again, she was on the team and could have just been keeping up the morale.

"Up.

"That was half-hearted," Harry interjected from her other side and she turned to glare at him instead. Beside him, his girlfriend sniggered, tossing her own broom from hand to hand. "What?" he cried, quailing under her suddenly terrible gaze. "What did I say?

"Something stupid," Ginny informed him, cheerfully, and Hermione sighed. At least _someone_ was enjoying this. The slight Gryffindor chaser seemed right at home in the mud and the rain, fiery red hair plastered to her head and grinning like an idiot. "Don't think about it, Hermione."

"I can't not think about it," complained Hermione, flapping her arms miserably. She was absolutely sodden, and her wellie boots had done nothing to stop the torrential rain from falling down them. She'd had to empty them twice already, and it wasn't even dark yet. "I overthink everything! It's a character flaw!" Ron stifled a laugh.

"I don't know. It's helped us a few times in the past." That appeased her enough for a slightly harassed looking smile in his direction, but then her expression turned to a frown again as she looked down to the broom lying on the ground.

"I don't think I'm going to get it. We'll try another time." Harry shook his head, adamant.

"You said it yourself: if we're going to make brooms our customary transport for the-"

"Shh!" The Weasleys and Hermione hissed, and Harry glanced around himself, and shrugged. "Keep your voice down."

"If we're going to be riding brooms a lot then you need to know how not to fall off." He snorted. "It'd be kind of anti-climactic if you died falling off your broom." Apparently he didn't notice how much Hermione paled at that statement, because he continued, absolutely blind to her discomfort. "And if we just keep on giving up, then-"

"Okay, okay, I get it." Hermione huffed eventually, crossing her arms. "But don't expect any help on that history of magic essay." Harry looked as though his evening had just been ruined, and mumbled something about that being unfair. Rolling her eyes, Ginny hit him in the behind with her broom, earning herself a half-hearted kick at her shins.

"That said Harry, I think today maybe wasn't the best day to start," Ron cut in, squinting up at the sky. The rest followed his gaze.

"Can you believe that it's spring?" Wryly, Hermione smiled.

"Nope. Won't accept it. I think we should all go inside and get some nice warm butterbeer." Hermione frowned at Ron.

"Where would you get butterbeer at Hogwarts?" He shrugged, attempting to go for nonchalance, but Ginny spoiled his secrecy.

"The kitchens. The house elves would do anything to make you happy down there." Unlike Harry, the youngest Weasley noticed immediately that she had said the wrong thing and excused herself, swinging onto her broom and whooshing off across the field to the sound of Hermione's indignant cries about S.P.E.W. Harry and Ron exchanged amused glances, but looked to the ground as their best friend's fury was turned on them.

"Well if we're quite finished here, I'd have to agree. We'll take this up again when the weather decides to get itself in order." She shot a threatening look up to the sky, which opened a fresh bout of water on her face in response, causing Harry to walk faster across the field and Ron to follow Ginny's example on the broom. Harry was probably only staying with her out of sympathy.

"Wet, eh?" He asked, his eyes practically glued shut by the constant stream of water.

"I hadn't noticed." He looked like a drowned rat, his hair flat for the first time in… ever. "You can go ahead. I'll be going up to the dormitory to change before seeing you in the kitchens anyway." At her friend's unsure look, she poked him with the end of the broom she had been unsuccessfully trying to mount for the past age. "Go on. I love the rain, I'll be fine." He was clearly trying to make a decision between leaving her behind, and staying out in this weather, and his decision was made by both the second bump she gave him with the broomstick, and the view of the castle far away in the distance.

"I expect to see you in the kitchens," he said, his voice mockingly menacing.

"Don't expect me to be dry," Hermione sang, brightly and waved as he hopped onto his broom and rode away as though he had been born on its back. Not that she was surprised: after all, it was in his blood.

Soon enough, he had disappeared into the grim distance, and she was alone on the rain soaked quidditch field. In fact, the rain was so thick she could barely see the castle anymore, and had to trust that she was, in fact, walking in a straight line. When a shadow passed over the top of her, she thought it to be an owl, or perhaps just her imagination. When it passed the second time, she tried to squint up, eventually picking up a shape on a broomstick swooping about through the rain.

Keeping her head down, she walked faster when she realized that the figure was wearing a green scarf: a Slytherin scarf. However, the shadow caught up with her, and landed promptly before her, making her start backwards. Malfoy was between her and the castle, and even though it was just them in the field, she felt her body go on edge.

"What do you want?" She yelled over the roaring wind, trying to blink the rainwater out of her eyes. She was cold, and tired, and very exasperated with how her afternoon had gone, and most primarily, was in no mood to deal with the Slytherin idiot.

"Have you been… flying?" The sheer incredulity made her straighten up, entirely affronted with his amusement. In an attempt to keep up appearances, she stuck her nose in the air.

"Maybe I have. What of it?" She hadn't meant to engage him in conversation, but he injured her pride, and while her ego could take enormous blows, when Malfoy sent them it just cut her right down to the bone.

"You can't ride a broomstick, Granger. In fact, I'd like to see you try." Hermione wouldn't like him to see her try. It was horribly humiliating, and she was certain she'd never live it down. "Go on. Do a circuit." He leaned closer, supporting his weight on his broomstick and even through the cascading rain, she could see the malice in his smirk. "If you can."

"I'm not a boy. Daring me to do something doesn't automatically mean that I have to do it." Malfoy snorted, unattractively, but it was hard to do anything attractively, she conceded, when one is underwater.

"You're a Gryffindor. That means that you're too damn proud to resist." That made Hermione laugh.

"That's rich, coming from you. You're so up yourself that you won't even tell a normal human being the time of day." Malfoy frowned at her.

"Why would I need to tell someone the time of day?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's an expression."

"A stupid expression.

"You're a stupid… expression." She said the last part quietly, as though that would make her comeback a little better, but it was so weak even Malfoy didn't have the heart to laugh at its hopelessness. He cleared his throat, awkwardly.

"Right. Go on. Do a lap."

"No." She tried to walk around him but he moved to block her, that infuriating smile still playing across his lips. Her eyes narrowed further still. "Move."

"No," he echoed, mockingly. "I don't think I will. I like watching you flounder."

"I'm not floundering." Malfoy threw a glance around himself.

"Then what in Merlin's name are you doing out here in the pouring rain?" Hermione conceded that she didn't have an answer for that. "Exactly." He sighed. "I suppose you can't even get it up." Stupidly, she stared at him.

"What?" He raised one eyebrow.

"The broom," he said, with the hint of a grin which almost made him look like a normal person. Furiously, Hermione blushed, and tried to march her sodden legs forwards, but he blocked the way yet again, and she stopped far before she got too close. "Such a dirty mind, Granger."

"I do not," she spluttered, indignantly. "Please move out the way."

"Thank the gods for manners, eh?" Hermione was almost certain that he was mocking her, but that was nothing new. "Come on, Granger, I want to see you fail." Breathing in deeply, he turned his face to the sky, correctly conveying how much he was enjoying her haplessness. "Wouldn't that be sweet?"

"No," she said, haughtily.

"Yes," he corrected, happily. "Tell you what. If you get on that broom, I'll let you get top marks in the charms test on Thursday." Her eyes widened.

"I can get full marks if I wanted to," she blustered, brazenly.

"So can I. Contented with a draw?" Sure enough, he was good at charms. In fact, he was her main competition when it came to practical charms tests.

"I… can't." Her voice was merely a mumble. However, it seemed to carry on the wind just fine, and Malfoy breathed in her failure, reveling in the scent. He cupped one hand around his ear, grinning as widely as though he'd just been given the sweetest gift there is to give.

"What is that? The great and illustrious Hermione Granger…can't?" He was enjoying this far too much for her liking. In fact, his smile was the most genuine Hermione had ever seen it. And the most infuriating.

"Shut up." She honestly could not come up with anything better than that, though not through lack of trying. It had taken her a good moment to reply, thus making her sound even more like an idiot. Hermione didn't like sounding like an idiot she prided herself far too much on her intelligence for that.

"Shut up," he mimicked, and she narrowed her eyes.

"Really? You're going to be like that?" Malfoy shrugged, as if to say 'yeah, what you gonna do about it?'. Hermione's hand tightened around her broom handle. "Fine. What do you want from me?"

"Bet I could teach you how to fly." _That_ was out of the blue. Wondering what his angle was, Hermione frowned, or at least she thought she did. The wind was so cold and biting that her face had gone completely numb and she couldn't feel it move.

"Why, so you can push me off my broom?" Certainly, she was surprised when he laughed. He sounded as cruel as always, but he seemed off, almost shifty. Maybe this was his attempt on her life, and he was worried that it wouldn't work out, and she was catching onto his cunning plan.

"No, so I can show you that the boy who lived isn't the only one who can fly." So he just wanted to best Harry at something... then push her off her broom.

"And you call us Gryffindors prideful." Malfoy shrugged, sauntering closer and rounding her like a prowling wolf.

"I call you arrogant too, but I suppose that they both apply to me." He said it calmly, as though he didn't care being pegged as such.

"That's not a good thing, Malfoy," she assured him, but he shrugged again.

"I like to keep a positive outlook on things."

"I'm not letting you get me on a broom." It was his turn to roll his eyes at her.

"You think I'd be as stupid to kill you out here?" He gestured his arms, then frowned. "Actually, no one would ever know I was here. And your friends _have_ left…" Hermione stared at him.

"You're not making me feel a whole lot better."

"Good. I'd hate to ruin my reputation with niceness." If she could find her wand beneath all of these sodden, heavy clothes then she'd curse him into oblivion. "Get on your broom." He climbed onto his, effortlessly, and began to hover. How did they bloody do that? "Come on Granger. Give a man some entertainment."

"You're not a man; you're a ferret. And no, I will not 'entertain' you." She didn't miss the chuckle that Malfoy gave that, and tried not to think about the implications that it held. "Go away."

"Only if you'll come with me."

"To see me fall?"

"To see you _fail_." He swooped closer, causing her to jump backwards in surprise and nervousness. "We can ride pillion if you'd rather." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I can't even levitate the damn thing." He landed again, beside her, and shook his head slightly to free it of the worst of the rain. His silvery hair was darkened to a light blond, and plastered so tightly to his head he looked practically bald. When he shook, like Sirius would when he was transformed, it ruffled, giving him a distinctly casual air.

"That's because you're asking it."

"Ron told me to ask it."

"I'm sure he told you to do all sorts of other wrong things too." Hermione frowned. There was nothing going on… whether there should or should not be was yet to be discovered, and neither her nor Ron wanted to be the instigator of a potential plague to their friendship, regardless of what was going on. Hence Lavender, she supposed. "Why would you _ask_ a broom to do something?"

"Because it's magic," she said, stupidly, and Malfoy winced.

"The broom's just a broom, Granger. I'm gonna bet you read all about them before you came out to start practicing," he eyed her up and down "for Merlin knows whatever reason you've suddenly decided to learn quidditch. So then, I have to assume that you know why the Nimbus is the best broom out there."

"It's got-"

"It's pretty." He held up his broom, and shrugged. "Lighter. More aerodynamic. Ultimately though, it's just a broom." He looked at the ratty old broom Ginny had stolen from Madame Hooch's stores and sighed. "Just the same as that one, if you can look past the obvious."

"That's impossible. They fly." Malfoy shrugged, as though this was no big deal.

"Some wizards can fly too."

"What, like Superman?" Hermione had never heard of wizards actually flying before. After all, they could apparate. What more did they want? Malfoy scrunched up his nose, and shook his head again, becoming soaked through again the moment he stilled.

"Who the fuck is Superman?" Huffing, Hermione crossed her arms.

"There's no need to be rude."

"Of course you'd say that," he scoffed. "Get on with it. You're the broom's master."

"I'm the broom's master," Hermione repeated, fruitlessly.

"If you can't even convince me, think of how unsure the broom is." Then she frowned, shifting her weight and causing water to squish out between her toes. She was pretty sure she was submerged up to the ankle, but too cold to tell for sure.

"Hey, I thought you said that the broom is just a broom." The Slytherin rolled his eyes.

"Think of it as a metaphor. The broom _is_ just a broom."

"You're contradicting yourself."

"And you're bloody annoying, has anyone ever told you that?" Hermione coloured, even in the numbing cold, and looked away. People told her that all the time. "You're right, everyone knows that." She didn't know why she'd expected a more tactful answer. Malfoy had less tact than Ron, but she suspected his tact had malicious intent while Ron's was merely the product of a good heart and terrible people skills. "Right, you listening?"

"Yes." But _why_ was she listening? She should have ran off by now, and joined Harry, Ron and Ginny in the kitchens for warmed butterbeer. But no, she was still outside in the pouring rain, conversing with her best friend's arch-nemesis about domineering metaphorical broomsticks.

"Okay. The broom moves to meet your magic, however stilted _that_ may be." Hermione bristled.

"There's nothing wrong with my magic."

"You're seriously telling me that you haven't noticed all the best players at Hogwarts are pureblood?" His eyes were the same stormy blue as the clouds swirling overhead. "There's a reason that I think we're better than you: we are. More magic, better fliers."

"Utter rubbish."

"Think what you will. But your magic just isn't strong enough for you to get on that broom." Hermione shook her head, hands curled into fists inside her gloves. "Classes aren't everything, Granger."

"My magic is fine," she reiterated passionately, gritting her teeth. "This is nothing to do with my magic." Unthinkingly, she cast a dark look to the sky, the stadium and the hoops on either end. They were so tall, she couldn't bear to think about flying to them. It was bad enough when she was forced onto Buckbeak's back, and she shuddered at the thought.

When she turned back to Malfoy, his eyes were gleaming in the slowly fading light. "I understand," he almost whispered, and her stomach contracted with fear at least, she can only assume it's fear at the look on his face. Glee and curiosity and hunger all rolled into one odd expression which didn't have a name, but she didn't like one little bit. "You're scared."

"I assume that metaphorically, the broom can sense that I'm scared."

"You're magic can."

"Magic can't-"

"Don't. Don't talk about things you don't understand. It's pitiful and terribly embarrassing to behold." Hermione began searching in her pockets for her wand, but suddenly his hand was on her wrist, preventing her from drawing it. Shocked, she could do little but to stare at him, mouth open and gathering rainwater. They'd traded curses before, that was sure, but they'd never actually _touched_. Of course, they weren't touching skin to skin, but it was still strange, that he would touch something like her. Instead of looking repulsed, he actually tugged her towards him. "Just trust me on this."

"Why would I possibly trust you with anything?" Hermione almost laughed at the stupidity of his instruction. "For all I know you're trying to murder me." Malfoy rolled his eyes, and pulled her closer still, so they stood on either side of his broom, him holding her wrist in the air beside the shaft.

"We've been over this. No murder tonight. Haven't you heard? I'm having a day off from my murderous pursuits, and teaching a mudblood how to fly."

"You are a complete mystery, ferret.

"I assume that to you Twitch, most boys are." Hermione wrinkled up her nose, and tried to tug her hand back away, but his grip was strong.

"Twitch?

"Clearly no one's told you that when you get angry, you do this funny twitching thing… it's hilarious. Certainly why I like to do it." She wasn't sure how it happened, but somewhere between the tumultuous rain, the howling rain and his inescapable strength, she ended up sitting in front of him on his broom, and realized too late that he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"What are you doing?" she squeaked, although she was pretty sure what she said wasn't actually coherent.

"Come on Twitch, think about it. Flitwick will love it when you best me in the charms test."

"I'd rather fail!" Hermione squealed, as they lifted from the slippery ground, and she scrabbled to grasp the front of the broom. His hands were steady on the handle, arms straight as he leaned onto her back. "Can broomsticks even take two?"

"Dunno. Never tried." Her resulting wail showed him what she thought about that. "It'll be fine. I'm strong enough to keep us up. Broom's just a broom, Granger."

"Bugger that! Put me down!" Malfoy laughed, and the broom picked up speed as though it moved in response to his mood, the raindrops hitting them both in the face. She could understand now why they always wore goggles in quidditch games, yet not how they dealt with the pain of the rain hitting their faces as such speed. An undercurrent of wind sent them swooping, and Malfoy tensed behind her, steering hard right and pulling out of the ascent. Hermione very nearly passed out in terror.

"You've made your point. Let me down."

"Look down." His voice was soft yet commanding in her ear, and she didn't stop to consider that she could feel his breath on her neck, even through the wind and the cold, because they must be pretty high up by now.

"No."

"You'll never be able to fly if you can't even open your eyes." When he sighed, it came out as more of a little laugh. "That's a bitch when it comes to steering." Taking a deep breath and getting a mouth full of water Hermione tried to open her eyes, to calm herself and take control of her senses, but they had taken leave and weren't returning. In fact, she couldn't physically move at all, merely press rigidly against Malfoy's chest in a vain attempt to keep herself grounded. "Open your eyes." In shock mostly because his lips actually touched her ear Hermione's brown eyes shot open wide, and though it took her a moment to gain her bearings, she couldn't stop the laugh which bubbled up her throat.

The lips against her ear smiled, and withdrew as Malfoy hopped off the broom, and onto the ground, only a few feet below them. Undignified, Hermione tried to follow, and ended up sprawled on her back in the mud. Malfoy crouched beside her, looking down. His hair hung heavy along his forehead, making him look a lot more youthful than he usually did. Or maybe it just made him look less like his father. Or maybe the two came hand in hand.

"You're a horrible person," Hermione informed him, still smiling in absolute relief.

"You already knew that," he offered, nonchalantly.

"Yes I did." Blowing out a sigh, Hermione licked some rainwater of her lips and closed her eyes against the offensive rain. "So does this mean I've passed your little test?" There was no reply. "Malfoy?" She opened her eyes and was nearly blinded by rain. Rolling over, she looked around herself, bewildered when she saw there was no one there. The castle glowed in the darkness, through the rain which was falling harder than ever.

If it wasn't for the soreness in her wrist from where he had grabbed her, she would have thought that she had dreamt it all. Then again, if she was having dreams like this, she would be very worried indeed about her sanity.

It took her almost an hour to get back to her dormitories and warm herself up sufficiently to continue down to the kitchens, but she met her friends coming back up, merrily. Guiltily, Hermione smiled and made excuses about how she couldn't get warm, after which Ginny called her a girl and Harry apologized for leaving her. Brushing his apology off and telling Ginny that she was right Hermione went with them into the common room, where they spent the rest of their night curled up by the hearth. She thought it wise not to mention Malfoy, which was convenient as she wasn't entirely sure she could explain what had happened anyway.

Professor Flitwick returned the test to them on Friday, wherein it was discovered that Draco Malfoy received ninety-eight percent. Hermione Granger got ninety-nine, and they shared just look across the classroom and she could have sworn that he winked.

Of course, the entire moment was ruined when Flitwick announced that Ronald Weasley had obtained full marks in the test, the highest in the class. Hermione was appropriately flummoxed, and she could tell by the look in Malfoy's eye that he was more than a little suspicious.

Ron didn't shut up about it for weeks.


End file.
